


The Final Stand of the Grandmaster of Crail

by TheDarkMetalLady



Category: Gloryhammer (Band)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Sad, based on fanart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:14:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22059142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDarkMetalLady/pseuds/TheDarkMetalLady
Summary: Just when it all appeared that the Kingdom was finally at peace, a new yet old and very unexpected threat decided to make itself known.
Relationships: Angus McFife/Iona McDougall
Comments: 3
Kudos: 6





	The Final Stand of the Grandmaster of Crail

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zirisek](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zirisek/gifts).



> Inspired by [this fanart](https://zirisek.tumblr.com/post/189308737938/another-train-sketching-how-proletius-got-stabbed) by Zirisek. 
> 
> I do not own the Gloryhammer characters. Please note that this story is about the _characters represented by the band_ and **not** about the band members themselves.

The day had started off as any other day in the mighty citadel of Dundee. Princess Iona McDougall and Prince Angus McFife had gotten up and began to go about their day, the Hootsman had likely found himself some booze and was well on his way towards losing the dreaded sobriety, and Ser Proletius was checking in with his knights, ensuring that the kingdom was safe and everything was running smoothly. 

Though they had defeated the Dark Sorcerer Zargothrax some several weeks prior, the mighty citadel of Dundee still bore many signs of the invasion of the undead unicorns. The dead had to be given proper honor, the damage had to be repaired, and the people had to once more find a norm to live in. However, with the hard work they’ve already put in, the most immediate of tasks had already been completed, leaving the mighty heroes with a bit more time to breathe as they went about their tasks at a less time-crunched pace. The Dark Sorcerer was gone, and the Kingdom of Fife was once more at peacetime, and they all hoped it would remain as such, at least for a few years until the southern neighbors known as the English would inevitably decide to attempt to invade. 

Therefore, what came next was something no one expected and no one was properly prepared for. There had been no warning, no approaching armies of doom and undead, no evil speeches or fireballs raining from the skies. 

The skies had been bright and clear, unusually so for the land of Scotland, when a knight sprinted along the wall of the citadel. “Grandmaster Proletius!” He called out, breathing heavily but still saluting his superior as he came to a stop (or at least, doing his best to salute when he had an open wound on his side and an arm that was likely broken). “Ser, there’s an attack on the citadel! He… He came out of nowhere, through a glowing portal, and…”

“Who?” Proletius asked, immediately on high alert and fearing the worst.

“The Dark Sorcerer!”

So much for some peace and quiet. He frowned, gaze made of sharpened steel. “Get yourself to the infirmary and rest,” he ordered the wounded knight. Then, he looked to a nearby tower, where an archer was sitting on the rooftop, watching from above with an expression matching the Grandmaster’s. “Maverick! Go roundup reinforcements, bring in an attack from behind.”

The archer gave a small nod before sliding off the roof and disappearing into the shadows of the tower.

With that, the Grandmaster rounded up some troops to lead the initial attack upon the Dark Sorcerer to hold him off, trusting for the knight master of archery to bring in the real offense. There was no time to stop and overthink, no time to wonder upon the hows and whys. Proletius didn’t care right now about how Zargothrax returned; the knight only cared about how to defeat him as soon as possible, so more people wouldn’t need to suffer. 

Or, if nothing else, then to die trying so that others (those actually capable of defeating him) may survive. 

There was no hesitation as the Grandmaster led the way into the fray. The Dark Sorcerer had moved fast, and had already reached the throne room, where he was locked in combat with the mighty Prince Angus McFife. 

Except something was wrong. 

Proletius noticed the details first -- the clothing, the mask, the fury. The clothing was futuristic; the mask was damaged and worn by time; the fury was indescribable. There was no doubt in the Grandmaster’s mind about it -- this was not the exact same Dark Sorcerer they had faced only weeks ago. He didn’t need the yell of a palace guard that there was still a Zargothrax encased in liquid ice in the dungeons to know that. 

He definitely didn’t need the display of power that was the Dark Sorcerer shattering the Hammer of Glory as Prince Angus McFife held it, the shockwave sending all combatants to the ground and even stumbling the Sorcerer himself. 

Zargothrax recovered fast, but Proletius recovered faster and made his way over. This was their best chance to attack -- while Zargothrax was fully focused on the prince, who had fallen during the explosion and was getting to his feet much more slowly, disoriented by the shock of it all. Zargothrax began to charge up a spell in his hand, ready to cast it at the prince, who would have no time to react--

And then a blade struck Zargothrax’s wrist, slashing clean through. The Dark Sorcerer roared inhumanly in pain, and a blast of energy centered on him sent everyone stumbling again. Proletius rolled to absorb as much of the impact as safely as possible, blade still in hand and dripping crimson from the edge. He was given no time to recover, however, quickly raising his blade once more and using the flat of it to reflect a spell that had been sent directly at him. 

**“You,”** The Dark Sorcerer said, poison dripping from his words.  **“I had almost forgotten about how much of an annoying pest you had been when you had a physical form.”** He raised his injured hand; before everyone’s eyes, the hand reformed itself within a matter of seconds.  **“You won’t be an annoyance for long.”** Without further ado, the Dark Sorcerer charged at the Grandmaster.

Or at least, he tried. 

At that moment, Prince Angus McFife had recovered and had jumped upon the Dark Sorcerer’s back, grabbing him into a headlock chokehold. Zargothrax stopped in his tracks, and it almost seemed as if the attack had worked. 

Then the Dark Sorcerer laughed. It was an evil, booming laugh, one that echoed off the walls of the throne room and brought dread to the hearts of those who heard it. Effortlessly, the sorcerer threw Angus over his back and off of him, sending Angus sprawling onto the ground. Angus got up once more, picking up a blade that had been dropped by a fallen guard, planning to fight despite not having his hammer. 

Alas, Angus never got to make the attack. 

A spell hit the Prince directly in the chest, much to the shock of everyone else in the room. There was a scream, a yell of the prince’s name, that pierced the air as ice-like crystal began to rapidly form around the Prince, encasing him and trapping him in a prison not unlike the one that the Prince had thrown the evil wizard into weeks ago, complete with all the sense of cruel irony. 

The dark sorcerer took out a knife with a black blade and approached the crystallized prince. Ser Proletius quickly jumped forward, sword in hand, and blocked the blow, locking blades and gazes.

“Princess Iona,” The Grandmaster called out, “get out of here!” 

The Princess, who had frozen up upon seeing her beloved get entrapped in ice, quickly responded to the order, following it on instinct. Zargothrax attempted to give chase, but Proletius refused to allow him, blocking every move the Dark Sorcerer attempted to do and throwing in some offensive attacks of his own to keep the wizard busy. He could only hope that the Princess got away, perhaps running into the Cralian reinforcements that Ser Maverick had been meant to bring around. They’d get her to safety. 

The Dark Wizard growled, then roared in anger once he realized that the princess had slipped from his grasp. A moment later, the knight’s sword sailed through the air and far out of reach. When Proletius attempted to retreat, the Dark Sorcerer blocked the knight’s way, his moves a cruel mockery of the same maneuvers Proletius had used to keep the wizard busy while the princess escaped.

**“You have been a thorn in my side for the last time, knight.”** The wizard grabbed the Grandmaster of Crail by the forearm, sharp claws digging through the knight’s vambraces as he got stumbled by the sheer force, uncertain whether his shoulder had been dislocated or not. Proletius recovered quickly.

He equally quickly became aware of the sudden pain in his chest.

The wizard was no longer holding the black-bladed knife. 

Proletius’s consciousness began to slip away quickly and suddenly. His last thought was hoping that the others, that his family and his friends and his knights, had made it out safe. 

Then the world went dark.

**“Now, you shall repay me for how much of a pain you had been, and instead serve me. As you had been meant to.”**

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta-read. 
> 
> Happy new year, everyone!


End file.
